


Ironclad Bond

by Nanagrb



Series: Soul Mates series. [1]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Modern Era, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-02-10 08:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12907653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanagrb/pseuds/Nanagrb
Summary: Soulmates exist, but Claire Randall, soon to be back Beauchamp, doesn't put much stock into them. The whirlwind that is Jamie Fraser may be able to change her ironclad opinion on them.





	1. Goodbyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter hasn't much of Jamie in it, at all actually, but don't despair, the Scot won't be absent for long.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

Their honeymoon had been disrupted by her call at arms. The second since they met. Frank had been quite cross about it, angry and bitter. It wasn't that unreasonable of a reaction, considering how much it disrupted their plans, nor did Claire really hold it against him that much, but he had known what he was engaging himself in when he proposed to an army surgeon. Nonetheless, their parting had been sweet and heart breaking all at once.

Now, seven years later, years without ever truly going home, or making one with her perpetually new husband, with only a few weeks here and there when she had permissions as exceptions, she was standing in the room of the hotel they rented, looking through the window and appraising the sight that Inverness made in the morning, for their make-up honeymoon. Standing in a strange room, in unfamiliar premises with a stranger that was supposed to be her husband.

Claire had known since the moment he suggested this trip that it would be a break or make moment. Either time and distance would have too grave consequences, or they would succeed in going against all bets. But, they had sworn to each other to try. Claire had sworn to herself to try and love him again like he should be loved. Like she should be able to love him.

A part of her always will, she knew that, and she was happy about it. He was a wonderful man. And he had been wondrous to her. He helped her after Uncle Lamb's accident, through all the tears and anxieties, the legalities. He had supported her through every mission, with phone calls or letters, been her rock through all the tears shed for friends that would never see their own families again.

Even with all those reasons and sound arguments she logically complied, Claire couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that took over her each time she was contemplating a future as Frank Randall's wife.

She was brought out of her gloomy musings by the sound of keys clinking against their hotel door. She braced herself and forced a smile as joyously as she could; and in the back of her mind a voice told her that had she really been happy it shouldn't have been so hard to put an act. She shoved her traitorous thoughts in a dark corner and turned to Frank.

“Frank!” whereas years ago, she had called "Honey" more than his given name, now there were no pet names in sight anymore that same voice pointed out “where did you go?”

“I went to buy us some croissants, I know how much you like them, but it seems french pastries haven't yet conquered this part of the world, so I settled for some sweet bread and jam.”

He smiled at her and she returned it. But both knew something didn't quite ring right. Both ignored it and pretended that shared look of hesitancy never happened.

“Don't worry, anything would do. Did you want to eat now, or could you perhaps wait a little?”

“Whatever for? Should I send for something else by Mrs. Pierce?”

“Oh no, I was merely thinking since it was a beautiful morning, it would be a shame not to enjoy it, wouldn't it? Maybe we could pack a small basket and go on a picnic?”

“Oh." His face while mainly surprised also seemed a little bit apprehensive. She saw him rearrange it to put on a good front. She swallowed back the bitterness that threatened to get out of her mouth. "Yes, why not?”

She sent him a small smile but the awkwardness of the whole discussion was still hanging in the air like a cloud full of lead.

Half an hour later they were parking at the bottom of a hill with standing stones upon it. A relic of generations long past, surrounded by myths and legends. Appealing to the masses. The sight was lovely and even though it was quite the tourist spot usually, not many people were there so early in the day.

They trekked up to the top of the hill, Claire did it as easily as breathing, but Frank heaved a little once they reached their destination. She took the basket from his hands, he had wished to carry it, citing its weight and his duty as a chivalrous gentleman, she guessed it backfired a little (she was ashamed to feel a small part of her happy about it). Claire had bit back a harsh retort, she was not one to stand smiling while being patronized nor was she unable to hold a small basket weighing at most fifteen pounds, she was in the military for god's sake! But, she had somehow, hardly, swallowed the bitterness, not willing to disrupt the quietness of their surroundings nor the tentative balance between them.

They sat down on the gray blanket they had found in the truck of their rental car, silently taking out the wrapped up food and drinks from the woven basket the concierge had supplied them with.

They ate, also shrouded by the silence.

Both not knowing what to say nor how to approach one another anymore.

After a long time, or what seemed like a long time to her, Frank's voice broke the unstable calm between them.

“Why didn't you sign again?”

It was like unveiling a pit that would unravel everything.

Those few words brought back images, sounds and feelings she had been pushing away as much as possible since she called him from her makeshift office on their camp, telling him she would be coming home soon, indefinitely.

Claire took a moment to hold herself together, not caring that Frank was waiting for her answer. She let out a long exhale, trying to push out at the same time the edge she was almost tipping over along with the carbon dioxide leaving her body.

“Hmm…” she stalled. “The time had come I think. I was feeling restless, like a predator without prey in sight.” She took a small moment to think about her answer, contemplating whether or not to delve more deeply into her feelings. “And…” her words were struggling to go through her clogged throat “I couldn't do it anymore. The loss, the perpetual goodbyes. I couldn't bear to bury yet another friend. It was too much.”

Frank, blessed be his kindness, didn't say anything for long minutes, let the words full heaviness settle between them like an immovable rock, and just held her hand in his. His touch was foreign and strange on her skin, but, still, she appreciated the steadiness, the support it brought her as she was trudging through painful memories again.

“I had wondered. For months and years. Even more since your call.” his voice made her focus again on the present moment even though a part of her still remained with ghosts. “Wondered if maybe you were tired of being away from me, wondered if maybe you missed me and wished to come back and be my wife, wished to live through a honeymoon, domesticity and maybe children in the not so distant future. I wished it was so, even though I didn't truly believe it. But, God, did I wish it… wished to be enough of a reason for you to come back to me…”

“Frank…”

Guilt wreaked her. Pain came too. But, guilt and remorse were center stage.

She couldn't articulate the thoughts and feelings coursing through her. She had never been quite gifted with words. She was a woman of action, never thoughtless, but still, she much preferred to act and show than speak and describe. Rationality, practicality, effectiveness were the very traits that made her such a good surgeon and soldier.

So she sat, her mouth open with unrealized thoughts and feelings, looking at her husband, a stranger she had known a long time ago, or at least she had thought she knew him. Their failed marriage clearly proved otherwise.

She cared for him, loved him, always have and always will. But was he enough? The part of her she had tried to quieten since she disembarked her military plane suddenly seemed loud and certain with a “no” for response. Was she enough? Same answer, “no”. Could she settle for it anyway? An even more resounding “no”.

“Frank… Please… I'm…”

Her words were jumbled. Unclear. Inarticulate. She herself didn't quite know what she had meant to say. An apology? An explanation? For what? For all the time they had spent and wasted trying to convince themselves it would work? For all the resentments and reproaches that they had never said out loud? For not trying hard enough, maybe.

“No, Claire. Don't you dare say that you're sorry. I won't accept it.”

“But, Frank!”

“No. There's nothing to be sorry for. You tried. I tried. Maybe we should have known right then. Had it been meant to be we shouldn't have had to try at all.”

She stayed silent under the weight of his words, recognizing it for the truth they held, feeling the pain they tried to hide. Holding his hand, still, a last show of communion, unity in the face of their failure.

“I think a part of us always knew it wouldn't last.”

She tried to interrupt him, but his eyes sent her a look saying to let him finish, let him deliver his penance, let him relieve himself of that loaded burden he bore for years.

“It's the truth Claire. We didn't want to admit it nor say it, but a part of us always knew it. We were young, and in love. Blinded by the shiny parts of our relationship, not acknowledging the shady ones. We are not made for each other, it's as simple as that.”

His declaration felt like the final nail in the coffin of their marriage. It pained her and at the same time relieved her.

“Claire… We are not soulmates. I know you don't quite believe in the concept, don't believe it's all there can be. And maybe you are right, we certainly aren't the only couple made of non-mates, and certainly not the last, and maybe for them it works anyway. But for us, it doesn't. We met at a moment of our life where we were what the other needed. We made each other happy. But, Claire, we have to see the truth as it is. We do not fit. We're simply too different, with different goals, values and even beliefs.”

Frank finished talking, Claire sighed, and they both let silence consume them for a moment. A minute of silence, of grief for their doomed relationship.

“Frank, I know. And I think, like you said, a part of me has always known. I'm sorry that you suffered because of me.” he tried to shush her, but she shot him a reproachful look, he had his occasion to talk, now he had to let her have it too. “I am, truly. I'm sorry we weren't enough for each other, soulmates or not. But, I am not sorry for our marriage. Nor for loving you. You gave me everything at a time where I had nothing. And I won't ever forget it. I won't ever forget you nor stop loving you, I hope you know that.”

The hand that held hers tightened with a silent message of love, warmth, comfort. A knowing look sent to her told her he appreciated her words, the effort she put into articulating as well as she could heavy emotions that would change their futures forever. The small smile that took his lips said back all the words she said to him. And Claire was content with the knowledge that at least they would always matter to each other.

Claire couldn't say who first lunged towards the other, but they embraced each other tightly. One final embrace, one final loving gesture. One final moment of love as husband and wife.

* * *

Their ride back should have been awkward and tense. Yet, it wasn't at all. Actually it was much more comfortable than the first one. The air was cleared between them. Pure of any lingering thoughts. Light from the heavy words that had remained unsaid for too long finally being let out into the world.

What was important to say had been heard by the both of them.

Logistics, details and practicalities could be sorted later, easily.

Claire hoped it could remain this way.

Her illusions were shattered quickly after that.

Once they reached the hotel, they had gone together to their room, not by habit, they haven't been living together long enough for it to become anything as such, but maybe more because they didn't think it through. Standing side by side in the room where they had placed all their meager hopes for maybe making it work was like a harsh wake-up call.

Something that made them realize that truly, this page of their life, however important and ground-shifting as it had been, was about to be turned over and would leave place for new adventures and important people.

They stood there for a long time, stiff and silent. The few people that passed by them looked at them confused, gossiping right after turning the corner.

However, they still remained almost comatose under the weight of the looming future.

Finally, Claire decided it was time to get into action. They certainly wouldn't spend the rest of their lives like mummies waiting to be moved by someone else.

She entered the room and headed for her luggage. It was barely touched, not only because of her training and habits not letting her be disorganized, but also because a part of her had known it may eventually come to that instant right there.

She had been gathering the few pieces of toiletries that were on the vanity when Frank interrupted the silence.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” she raised her eyebrow, and while the words could have passed as mean, her tone had only been teasing.

“I see very well that you are packing, but, Claire you don't have to. I can easily get another room for me while we are still in Inverness.”

“Oh, no need, Frank. A friend of mine, Ms. Graham, works for the veteran center here, she's a caretaker at the institution. I received a message from her yesterday after she saw our pictures on the Internet from when we first arrived. She's invited us to spend a few days at her home, but I'm sure she won't be perturbed by the turn of events. It makes no sense to pay for another room when I can go to a friend's house. Also, I think it could do us well to not be in this same building when we just put an end to our marriage, you know?”

Frank stayed silent a few moments, contemplating their options and the finality of her words.

“Alright, but please, send me a message or call me to tell me if everything is alright, okay?”

She nodded, grateful he wouldn't fuss further. “I will.”

She finished packing very quickly. And she was almost cursing herself for her swiftness. Now would come the awkward goodbye, and she wasn't sure she could deal with it.

Frank saw her almost fidgeting over her luggage, her eyes straying anywhere but on him, and she heard him sigh.

“Claire, please don't make it more bizarre than it already is.”

She looked up, and at the sight of his wry smile, a laugh got out of her. A laugh so good, so cathartic and so surprising. She hadn't known she needed this so much.

After she calmed herself a bit, she took the elongated handle of her suitcase and advanced towards the door, and Frank that still hadn't moved from his position.

She took his hand in both of hers, and squeezed it to imprint this impression on her mind forever.

“Thank you, Frank, for the laugh. For everything.”

“You're welcome Claire. Thank you too.”

The words could seem unimportant and meager compared to what they meant, but they didn't need more than just that. It was simple, heartfelt and genuine. The best ending that could exist.

“I'll call you tomorrow, alright? We'll talk papers and all that boring stuff then?”

“Of course, Claire. Don't worry.”

Their hands let each other go, the heat of their palms still felt on each, the memory of a love gone, and the hope of a happy future taking up the space bared between them.

“Goodbye, Frank.”

“Goodbye, Claire.”


	2. Mrs.Graham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire finds a good friend in Mrs.Graham.

Mrs. Graham had been surprised to see her, of course, but welcomed her nonetheless, with open arms and a smile filled with genuine warmth. She had invited her, even though she had not expected Claire to come to her in the circumstances in which she did.

After the initial surprise and brief, very vague explanations she mumbled, Mrs. Graham had led Claire to the private parking lot adjoined to the Veteran Center. It was a small but beautiful building, calm and surrounded by small private grounds. The green grass and the towering trees had been a calming sight to Claire's jumbled nerves when she arrived. It still had the same effect as she was leaving in the small vintage bug Mrs. Graham was driving.

The atmosphere in the car was just as Mrs. Graham was: warm, relaxing and non-judging. The rumbling of the engine and her friend's quiet humming helped sooth her frayed nerves. Claire couldn't be more grateful for her. They reached the residential areas on the edges of Inverness in less than ten minutes. Once they stopped in front of the small house, she admired the healthy and vibrant rows of flowers and bushes that marked the edges of the property.

“I see you're a fellow botany amateur, Mrs. Graham.”

“Claire, I already told ye to call me Celia. And yes, I must admit I do enjoy traipsing my hands through the mud. Although I do not ken why ye would enjoy it so, I have been told it is more befitting of a woman of my age instead?” Mrs. Graham's, Celia's, tone was teasing and playful, like it wasn't the first time someone made a remark about the subject, Claire smiled.

“I suppose it goes along with the bridge club and tea parties, does it not, Celia?”

Celia laughed genuinely and Claire couldn't help but go along. Any lingering doubts about imposing herself on the poor woman, or the decision not to stay in another room of the hotel were swept away by the small but joyous interlude.

It set a precedent, or rather, it set the mood for the rest of the evening.

She had helped Celia cook, nothing extravagant, mashed potatoes and beef with red wine sauce. Well, she passed along the tools and cleaned the dishes they used, Claire could barely cook eggs without carbonizing them! They ate with an aura of lightness and joy while talking and laughing. They cleaned after themselves in the same atmosphere.

It was only when they settled on the facing comfy leather armchairs before the fire she had lighted up while Celia was finishing with cooking, that did the mood shift a little. Maybe it was the whiskey they were sipping slowly, that, while coursing warmly through their veins, brought forth less trivial thoughts and a more somber atmosphere. Or maybe it was the warmth and calm of the crackling logs burning in the hearth that made them feel safe to discuss more heavy topics. Claire didn't know, but the words still came out of her without her being aware she even wanted to talk about it.

“Frank and I are… our marriage is really over, Celia.”

“I gathered it was so, Claire.”

Her words were bereft of any judgment, they were pure, simple facts, and Claire once again felt blessed of having been given such a friend in her life.

“I think it has been doomed since the moment it began…”

The words were full of unconcealed grief even when her tone was sardonic. There was no clear end to her sentence, like she didn't know what she wanted to say with that. And maybe she didn't, maybe it was just another pure, simple fact, one that they had both ignored for years.

Claire wasn't aware she had been crying until she felt Celia's gentle fingers sweep over her cheek to gather the moisture her eyes had let out. They were not tears of pain, nor heartbreak, nor even longing, just tears of an ending. A finality she finally faced head on after eons of feigned ignorance.

The hand that gathered her tears lowered to her hand, and Celia squeezed it, a silent show of compassion and support, a sign of friendship.

“Is it because ye were no soulmates?”

Claire was almost startled by her voice, so engrossed in her thoughts. But she was surprised by her words.

“How do you know we weren't soulmates?”

“Claire, did ye not ever wonder why formal marriages came with golden rings on the left hand?”

“No, I… I must admit I didn't. I had never really been truly interested in marriages, love and certainly not soulmates. Well, Frank is, was… like an exception to the rule, in a way.”

She was thankful for Celia's brief moment of silence, like she knew to let the ghost of her failed marriage at peace for an instant.

“It is said that the custom of placing golden rings on the hand closer to the heart marked it as a voluntary, but also second best, choice from it. It was considered as a compensation for those unfortunate ones that didn't find their heart's mate. Their soul's mate. That's where the word came from, actually, before that it was called a myriad of other names but “soulmate” became the norm because it was a form of universal truth. Did ye know that soulmate bonds never come in a golden form?”

“No, I did not.”

“Most commonly, the Bindings, no matter their shape, be it a necklace, ring or whatever else, are made of silver. Although there are a few exceptions of course.”

Claire had never quite been interested in soulmates, nor their particularities, or history, and certain not the lore behind them, but she was thankful for the distraction it became at that moment.

However, with no words being exchanged anymore, her thoughts turned again in the direction of her earlier woes.

“Celia, am I a horrible person?”

“Claire! No! Why would ye ever think so?”

“It's just… Celia, when Frank and I talked this morning, I felt pain, of course, at the finality, at the ending of our marriage, but… I mostly felt relieved. And I am disgusted by myself for it, I can't help but feel so guilty for those blasphemous feelings.”

“Oh, Claire… No, lass, there is no need for that.”

“But…”

“No, do ye hear me? It is normal, and quite expected too, if one is not happy to feel relief when the source of the unhappiness comes to an end, aye?”

Celia's words reassured her, so she nodded, but a part of her couldn't help but still feel guilty. And not only for the relief. For all those years made of lies. For making herself purposely blind. For making Frank miserable when the man did not deserve it, especially not coming from her.

The rest of the evening passed in quietness by the fire. And, when finally they went to bed, Claire in the slightly creaky but nonetheless supremely comforting bed in the guestroom, the heaviness of the whole day proved to be stronger than her own self-recriminating thoughts. She fell asleep with no dreams filling her mind, only a much needed void mind.

* * *

They were breaking their fast early the next morning when Celia asked her a question that had been running on her mind since the end of her contract with the forces.

“What will ye do now that ye're not a soldier anymore, Claire?” her Scottish accent was more pronounced than usual in the morning, Claire noted absentmindedly.

“I'm not quite sure, to be perfectly honest. I have received a few offers already from private hospitals around the country, but…”

“But ye need a respite, do ye not?”

Claire sighed a little. How did Celia always know?

“Yes, I think so. I have been working, first as a nurse and then as a specialist, in the Army since my nineteenth year, Celia. And during all this time, I don't even know if I spent more than two to three months in total out of duty. I need some time to myself, I guess. To think about me. And also to settle the divorce, now…”

“Well then. Ye'll stay here until ye find something else.”

“What? No, Celia, I couldn't possibly. I won't impose on you longer, you have been a marvelous help, and most importantly friend, but I won't overextend my welcome.”

“Claire, do ye think I would propose such if I did not want ye to stay? If ye did, be aware that ye are wrong, lass.”

“But why, Celia? I don't wish to become a burden for you.”

“Claire.” her tone was stern, not leaving any place for doubt or response. “I know what it is like to be in a moment of need. During mine, I have been helped greatly by a dears friend, and I wish for ye the same. Let me be that friend.”

Claire did not say anything for a long moment. She pondered Celia's words and the possibility of staying here in Inverness while she fell back on her feet. And, she would try not to lie to herself anymore, the prospect was quite appealing. She felt a sense of calm and peace here in this small city, and especially in this small house with its beautiful flowers and welcoming host. So, she agreed.

“Alright. But you have to let me pay my part.”

Celia tried to refute her.

“No, I will not budge on that matter, I will not be a burden. I'll pay for the groceries and some regular expenses while I'm here. Agreed?”

Her friend smiled and sighed at the same time. “Lass, I ken when to pick my battles. Agreed.”

Claire smiled, feeling victorious. It wan no battle of Culloden, but this small accomplishment made her feel like she was on a good road, like it was right. Like she was slowly finding herself again after everything that happened not only the day before, but also all the months and weeks leading to it.

Celia spoke again, tearing her out of her thoughts.

“I ken it can be a touchy subject, but I have to ask…Are ye alright with money, dear?”

“Oh yes, please don't worry. I haven't used much of my salary in all those years, and I still have quite the large sum from my inheritance. Although, I guess I'll spend it much faster now considering Frank and I still have to settle matters of our divorce, and consequently, the shared bank account…” Claire didn't want to somber the mood, so she spoke again in a much more playful manner. “What do you say here? “Dinna fash”?”

“Oh dear, what a horrible accent!” Celia laughed at Claire's butchering of the Scottish brogue. When she calmed down, Celia spoke again.“I may have an option for ye if ye dinna want to spend that money for now. One of our doctors is working part-time for now, it's the end of their parental leave, ya ken, and they have been looking for a suitable replacement for a few days with no good solution. I can place a word for ye if ye so wish?”

Claire pondered an answer even when she already knew in her gut what the outcome could be. Since she left her final martial plane, she had been driven crazy by idleness. Claire was a woman on the move, always looking for something to do, a problem to solve and sitting around with too much time on her hands was no good for her.

“Please do, Celia. I'll go crazy if I just stay here with nothing to do. Even working a few hours a day seems like a good compromise, I'll still have time to wander and take a breather from everything, and it could be a good option to introduce myself in more civilian facilities and how they work.”

“It is settled then. I'll have an answer for ye this afternoon when I come home. Until then, enjoy yerself a little Claire. Take a walk. Relax. Buy something nice. Whatever you need. Alright?”

Claire nodded and hugged her friend tightly while Celia was grabbing for her light coat. They laughed from the slight awkwardness of the gesture.

She watched her climb in her old car and drive away, with a feeling of contentedness if not pure happiness, it was still too early for that, the pain of the break up was still fresh. But, something in her, call it intuition or fate, told her she wouldn't regret her decision to stay in the small city of Inverness for this trying time in her life.


	3. Traipsing.

In the two weeks since her move in Celia's home, Claire had developed a light and healthy routine. She needed at least some order in these troubled times. Still, she forced herself to enjoy the free time she had in the Highlands for at least half a day every day.

Celia and her would wake up early, before dawn even came by on the horizon, and would take a quiet breakfast, sometimes punctuated with pleasantries and talks about the dreams they had had that night, and then, they would each go in their rooms, dress up and head out to the old bug waiting in the driveway. Everything happened with a quiet ease one would expect from people that had lived years and years together. An ease she had never truly felt with Frank…

The doctor she was replacing, a general practitioner named Linda MacDonald, preferred the afternoon shift, since her newborn wasn't particularly inclined to sleep through the night yet.

And Claire was glad. She had always been an early riser, and after a decade in the rigorousness of military schedules, she couldn't even imagine her body would ever allow her to have a late lie in in the mornings -the thought brought forth the painful image of Willie's teasing grins every time he would see her bringing him a cup of coffee at five am, looking like she had never even slept- the memory made her heart ache…

She took advantage of the free times in her afternoons to explore the city and the nature around it.

She particularly loved the ruins of Urquhart, it was one of her recurring spots, it called upon her more regularly than she could have imagined ruins ever would. Many tourists and passing individuals in the city loved much more the newer, much more glowing and rich Cawdor castle; and Claire certainly would never say it wasn't beautiful or captivating. But the ruins were marked by not only a wildness and beauty that represented wholeheartedly what were the Highlands, but also by the effects of time and wars. The girl that had grown up alongside an archeologist and the woman that had married a historian felt at ease in a site marked by centuries and countless human lives.

The only downside to her favorite spot were the weird and obsessed tourists looking for a sign from the Loch Ness creature. Claire scoffed each time she saw a foreigner or simple British tourist, cameras held tightly in their hands like guns, and exclaiming “Wow! Look! Look! It's here! OMG, I'm gonna be sooo rich once I put it on YouTube!” each time a fish let oxygen out causing small ripples in the water.

The tourists however were much more scarce in the true beauty of the Highlands: the woods. The green hills and forests surrounding the city were of extreme grandiosity. The trees were standing tall, like watchmen of Nature eying everybody that dared pass through them. The green bed of moss covering the damp earth like a fuzzy blanket was soft and supple under her boots. The wildflowers she saw smelled as extraordinary as they looked, gorgeous vibrant colors shaped in lovely curves.

And each time Claire would feel all her senses taken over by it all, her mind would quieten and her heart lighten. All the worries, all the guilt, all the pain were shedding away from her like a snake's skin each time she got a whiff of the sweet flowers growing this spring or each time she felt the bark of a tree centuries old under the pads of her fingertips.

Claire herself didn't know exactly why she took up the habit of writing in a diary. She had never felt in her entire life inclined to do so. Not when she had been orphaned, twice over, not when she got married, and not when she buried friends in rich brown earth.

All she knew was that the first day she went into the city and passed by a bookstore, she saw the rich cherry shade of the leather of a pocket sized notebook and it was like she had been captured and called by it. Compelled to write and leave a ghost of her thoughts and soul on the paper.

She had gone into the store like a storm, a frenzy in her tone that really hadn't been nor appropriate nor the slightest bit polite for just a notebook. Nonetheless, five minutes after, handbook in her hand, and a gorgeous marbled black fountain pen in her other, she got out of the door and sat on a bench in the park she passed by a few hundred meters away from the commerce.

Ever since, every single interesting leaf, flower, monument she passed or thought she had was etched in the soothing grain of the rich beige paper. Be that in the form of scientific remarks, their known medicinal uses, a description of their smell or even a tentative drawing (unfortunately, art had never been a particular talent of hers). Every interesting person she met had been granted a page in her precious notebook. Like a memory of a moment she didn't wish to forget.

Geilis Duncan, a proud redheaded Scotswoman, married to an old judge she despised, was her first.

She had been compelled to write something about her, her hand flying over the paper with a swiftness she hadn't known she possessed until then, when she saw her walk away with her lover, a stubborn separatist, older than her with a bald head and a strong voice. The father of her unborn baby. Geilis had approached her in the same park she had first sat in after purchasing the leather notebook. They had talked about plants and poisons as if they were the most common subjects in the world to talk about with a stranger. They even discussed what would be the best method for getting away with murder!

From then on, seven more people had the honor to be written about by the amateur she was. However, it was solely constricted to new people, some she hadn't even talked with (a particularly notable one was an old lawyer named Ned Gowan that had fought for Scottish heritage and defended victims of English banks, he had paid for her drink in the oldest pub in the city asking only in return for a discussion and an ear to listen), just saw in the corner of a street or sipping a coffee while arguing with a significant other.

She fiercely avoided the prickling urge to write about the people she had known before. Not those she still heard from when they could reach out, and certainly not those she only had past memories of.

Whenever this urge would rear its head, she would strive to distract herself by traipsing through a park or take a glass of tasty Scottish whiskey in a local, old, pub.

The exceptions to her wandering ways were the few afternoons that had been taken by Frank.

The first time they met since their fateful excursion upon the Craigh Na Dun hill, they were sitting in a small corner in a quiet café on a rainy day.

Saying the first few minutes were awkward would have been a gross understatement. Frank had been waiting for her, like the gentleman he thrived to be, clad in a black, white-striped suit, his hat on the edge of the table and a cup of black coffee in his hand.

The golden ring still sitting on his fingers.

On hers too.

She had approached the café tentatively, and she wasn't particularly proud of it. Claire was not a timid woman. And even when she did feel unsure, she did not like showing her nerves. Also, the man did nothing to be treated this way by his soon to be ex-wife. Therefore, she straightened her spine, and marched to the table like she would in a hospital corridor: confident, at ease, like she owned the place.

“Hello, Frank” she had said. His answering “Hello, Claire.” after his eyes went up to her face, and his hand tightened into a fist, led only to a heavy, awkward silence.

Claire had decided after minutes of tension that she would not let their relationship get such a sour note in the end. So, she had pierced the silence that had been hanging between them.

“How have you been Frank? Are you still lodging at the hotel?”

After that, the ice had been shattered and they exchanged more pleasantries, polite inquiries and answers. Slowly, their conversation had shifted into more comfortable tones and talks, like they were back to the days after they initially met, talking as friends with ease. They even joked and laughed about their past while also talking about the hassle they would face in the coming weeks about administrative matters and what not.

Claire had been content when she left the establishment. Confident all would go well despite the situation they put themselves in.

And she hadn't been disappointed. Their few meetings after had been easy. It helped them immensely. Slowly, they were transitioning without conscious thought from the remains of a shattered marriage to a relationship akin to what old friends, separated too long to really be comfortable but still holding affection towards each other, would have.

Frank had called one of his friends from his university days that had specialized in private law.

The last time they met, a few days ago, Frank had showed up in the restaurant they had agreed upon beforehand, with a folder in his hand. The divorce settlement, she saw when she opened it after he handed her the envelope.

She had been surprised, not being aware of the favor he had asked. And while a great part of her was, if not happy then at least satisfied, to sign, to deal more quickly than she had hoped with the dread legalities were, a mightier side was also sad. It felt like a burial. A final conclusion to their marriage.

The wife looked at the soon to be ex-husband with pain, surprise, and a question in her eyes: _“is this truly the end?”_. A final wavering of opinion. A rightful indecision when faced with such enormity of pain and change.

Claire had signed the agreement with her much loved pen, unleashed tears in her eyes, bottom lip folded under her upper teeth in an effort to contain her emotions and with Frank's tense hand coming upwards to hold her shoulder in a show of support and acknowledged, shared, pain.

They had not needed words at that moment. Their eyes told everything that they couldn't hope to put into words with justice. Grief. Relief. Hope. They all mixed together into a jumbled bundle that was indescribable to anybody that wasn't them.

Claire and Frank Randall parted with a forceful clenching of hands that would leave slight bruises on their skin come morning.

A hug would have never been appropriate for that moment, however much they needed the reassurance human contact could have brought with it.

Claire Randall, soon back to Beauchamp once the papers were acknowledged by official parties, was walking back to the bus station, feet dragging heavily under her body, shoulders bent on herself with arms wrapped around her torso, her head bent down, too mightily dragged down by the tears streaming out of her eyes. Waiting for it to bring her to the warm home of her friend. Where the bottle of whiskey and the comfort of Celia's kindness were waiting for her.

Frank Randall was headed to the train station. He would be back to Oxford in just a few hours. Returning to a years old routine he had perfected before going to Scotland. Resuming a life without a wife in his home. Except this time he was entirely certain she would never come back to him.

That they would never see each other again.

 

* * *

 

This particular day, her third Monday since she settled temporarily in Celia's house, her routine was shoved aside.

She had been asked the day before if she wouldn't mind too much coming for the afternoon shift instead: Linda had an appointment at three o'clock with the pediatrician that followed her daughter Kenna. Claire had agreed of course. Why wouldn't she? She could deal without an afternoon of exploration easily if she enjoyed her morning with a hearty breakfast taken in a historic inn, couldn't she? And she certainly wasn't selfish nor ungrateful enough to have such a behavior towards people that had been kind to her.

The work in itself was rather routinely ordinary. Regular patients that were in convalescence and that only needed to be checked over to see if everything was healing right. A few new ones that came either for a check-up, virus or for a minor wound. A few ligt talks in passing with nurses and long-term patients she saw every day. Nothing exciting or challenging, really.

Claire didn't know if the fact that she was bored and disappointed it wasn't something worse made her a horrible doctor and person. She just grudgingly accepted it as an uglier trait of herself, not willing to spend too much time on the disturbing question. Not yet quite ready to question every aspect of her character.

She had expected the day to be rather unremarkable even with the change of her usual pace. And until the last hour of her shift her predictions had proved to be right.

How wrong had she been.

_What she had not expected_ was the tall, muscled and charismatic redheaded man that collided with her in the corridor of the Veteran Center. Claire was not a slight nor small woman. And she had been a trained, proficient at hand to hand combat soldier for her whole adult life. And yet, she had been knocked down to the cold ground of the corridor in the infirmary wing like she was nothing but a feather swept away by a mighty force. Her rear had collided rather painfully with the tiled floor, and the papers of the file she had been holding in her hand were laying in disarray on the white ceramic. Claire had sat stunned by the events. Not even angry she had been shoved on the floor, just surprised by what happened.

_What she had not expected_ was to ever have her mouth hanging with awe in front of a man. She was never the kind of person to lose her composure in front of beautiful or powerful people. However, this man was the most stunning example of human male she had ever encountered in her life. The fist thing she noticed was the electrifying blue of his feline gaze. Then, her eyes roamed to the rich red of his coppery hair, the strong cheekbones, the delectable lips atop a strong, squared jaw. Her hands were begging to go wrap themselves around the mighty neck held by wide, muscled shoulders. She couldn't stop her gaze from traveling on the entirety of the picture he presented: extremely tall, sturdy and with a confidently quiet strength emanating from him in waves. She shamefully acknowledged she could feel herself becoming wet between her thighs. _Stop it, Beauchamp!_

_What she had not expected_ was the gentleness of his hands when he stabilized her as she forced herself to stand back up, not willing to appear the fool for much longer, or the exquisiteness of his husky voice tinted with the Scottish brogue when he asked her “Are ye alright, Mistress?”. She felt a strong urge, stronger than any she experienced before, to etch him into her precious notebook. To capture the glory that was him however she could, knowing fully well that she would never dress a worthy portrait.

And, most importantly. _What she had_ _ **definitely**_ _not expected_ on that day was to have an iron band appear out of nowhere on her right arm, enclosing her skin with no visible clasp to open it back up, one that matched exactly with the iron bracelet that came out on his.

“Fuck.” the word got out of her mouth without her permission, in a forceful sigh, full of disbelief, she saw it by the slight arching of his brow and the confused yet amused look in his eyes. It seemed to her like he hadn't noticed this particular event happening, maybe too focused on waiting for her answer to his inquiry?

Claire didn't really know. Nor did she really care. Only one thought circled back in an unending loop around her head.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…_

**She met her Soulmate.**


	4. The Chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm truly, truly sorry, for the time between updates. I have no real excuse, except, well, life happened. Also, the struggle was real. This is a short chapter, that I rewrote what feels like a billion times and that maybe is not that important, but I felt it was kind of a necessity. 
> 
> Hopefully, the next one will come much more swiftly, but I won't promise anything!
> 
> I hope you like it even if there's still not much Jaime!

The leather armchair had become a staple to Claire from the moment she moved to Celia's home. Each time she came back from a long day filled with patients and then treks through Inverness and its surroundings, she would slouch on it and slowly the tiredness would recede a little bit. After every meeting she had with Frank, when thoughts and doubts would invade her mind, when guilt and regret would threaten to eat her whole, she would fold herself into the leather while staring at the calming dance of the fire in front of her.

And yet, now, it did nothing. No comfort, no balm in sight. _Useless chair!_

Claire didn't remember half of the journey back home. She was just thankful she didn't kill anyone or cause any accident while driving her bike to the suburbs like a crazed person.

She had been frenetic. Erratic. Unhinged!

And she still was!

She still couldn't believe what happened. It could not be possible! She refused to believe that this could happen to her. Claire Beauchamp had never believed in this “soulmate” business, ergo, she clearly shouldn't be given one. Especially not now! Not when she hadn't even erased officially the “Randall” from her name!

However, her traitorous mind, or maybe just her lusty eyes, wouldn't let her refute ever meeting the beautiful redheaded man. Not after running away like a coward from him while mumbling words she was certain didn't make any kind of sense.

Claire was a surgeon goddammit! And she was army! When has she ever run away before? Never. And she starts doing so when she meets the person that supposedly is her soulmate.

( _Fuck! She has a soulmate!_ She still couldn't believe it!)

Her usually controlled, and steady hands were trembling like an addict's in need of their fix, because of nerves! She could feel anxiety and restlessness take hold of every cell and nerve-ending in her body.

Gone was the calm. Gone was the restraint. Gone was the fatigue of a long day.

And nothing helped. Not even her third glass of scotch whiskey she was forcing herself to drink slowly after downing the first two in a matter of few seconds.

While at any other time she would have looked down to her hands, those she took care of, those that allowed her to save lives and do what she was meant to do, those that occasionally strayed from healing to hurting when the situation called for it, she stubbornly refused to do so right then. Not when looking down would also mean seeing the iron that encircled her wrist.

Not when it would mean that she would have proof of something she was arduously denying, even if some part of her usually rational head knew it was useless to do so.

That was how Celia found her: a jittery mess drinking alcohol on a leather armchair.

Definitely not her finest moment. And she didn't even care, too wrapped up in her mind with the same thoughts circling round and round endlessly: _“It can't be possible!”, “Soulmates?!”,_ the occasional: _“He's so handsome...”_ she was guilty of _, “Why_ _now_ _?”…_

“Claire, dear, are ye alright?”

Celia's voice brought her out of her almost catatonic state and her void staring into the flames, as if they would have given her any answer. She turned her head towards her friend, and once again, as she was inclined to do in emotionally charged situations, she was unable to find words to express herself. So she only moved her head a little to the sides, while her hands still shook uncontrollably, wrists carefully covered by the long sleeves of her blue blouse.

“Oh dear!” her tone was gentle and reassuring, like she was talking to a skittish animal. And maybe she was right in her approach, Claire certainly did feel like one that was backed into a corner by something much more powerful than them.

The brown haired, gentle woman that was her friend took her hands in hers, wrapped them with the comfort only amicable human touch could bring, and her eyes took hold of hers with nothing but compassion and friendship swimming in them.

And Claire, like a dam that has slowly been too under pressure, that suddenly exploded and let everything out, broke down into a lake of uncontrollable tears.

Her spine curved until she was curled into herself. Her whole body shook like a leaf in a storm.

She was shedding away everything she had been bottling up for months. Tearing troubles away from her skin in blasts of pain and remembrance.

The first punch was the grief of losing her best friend while she was trying to save him. The raw terror and pain she had been pushing away from her heart by walls she well knew would never hold. The memory of his organs' weakness around her hands as they had been buried deep in his guts trying to stop the internal bleeding left in his lungs by the foreignness of the metallic bullet that had made a home in his body. She had felt the man she had taken to considering as her brother slowly slip away from the living realm, from her. Untethered. Just as she had been when one of her colleague present at her side in the op. room slowly pushed her away from his blood, bones and skin. The void that was where his smile usually greeted her slowly eating everything else away.

The next came when she remembered herself getting out of the plane, feeling bereft, empty and like something had been stolen away from her. Her best friend, her brother in every aspect that truly counts would never be there again. Never would he stand again next to her while making her laugh and smile with his wit. Never would he hold her hands through hardships. After all the deaths that only he had helped her recover from in the years they spent together, she now had to find a way to do just that by her own self. That bullet hadn't only taken away her brother, but her life too. “What was she supposed to do now?” she remembers feeling as she stood rigidly in the exit of the plane, looking at the surroundings without actually taking anything in. Who would she be now that everything that defined her was gone: her brother, her rules, her job, her mission?

The loss of her marriage, no matter how much it hadn't truly been a marriage for much longer than she had been willing to acknowledge, had been the final hit. Frank, their lawful union, had been the saving branch she had grabbed onto when everything else was shredding before her eyes. The only vestige of her past life that she could still access. The only thing she could attach herself to, the only thing that had been Claire's and that still lived just as much as she did. The only thing that survived, barely, maybe, and with no doubt broken in many ways, but still it had survived even when she hadn't wanted to.

It could have been thought that next to his death everything else would have seemed just a tad bit inconsequential, no matter how utterly impacting they were by themselves, that they would have seemed only like ghostly souvenirs of sufferings. And yet, the rawness of that pain only made everything that happened after just more unbearable, it left her feeling like just a little shove would have made her crumble down like a card castle next to an open window. She had been pushing and pushing, as down as it could go, that mountain of things that were burdening and paining her. And it was only a nudge, a brief moment in an inconsequential hospital hallway, monumental and life-changing, in the form of a redheaded Scot, that did it.

Claire broke. Claire became a teary mess. Claire slipped into slumber, right there, in the chair that became useless in the face of her life, maybe from the drinks, or maybe from the tears that depleted any energy she still had left, or perhaps was it just an effort made to escape at least for a few hours everything that she had poured on herself after months of avoidance.


End file.
